Once Upon A Time
by Story R. R. Stranger
Summary: I know; I couldn't think of a better title. This is the story about the adventures I had when I was thirteen. We all lose a little of the magic of our dreams when we get older, and this story is for everyone who needs a little waking-up. *ON HAITUS FOR PROBABLY EVER*
1. Prologue

**Hola, I've started a new story! And I have high hopes for this one! I'm excited. I just had a Disney Channel marathon and I feel like being creative and releasing my inner child, so hopefully this story can help me with that. But I also hope it's not too immature sounding, because that's my worst fear. But I digress.. I _was_ "thelostgirl131" on here until about ten minutes ago, when I changed my name. But I promise it'll be the only time I change it. I don't like confusing people. Please see my profile if you want to know why I changed it. And that's all I'm gonna say for now, enjoy this story with the unoriginal title! It is subject to change, just like my pen name...! Ah well, it's a woman's privilege to change her mind, right?**

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><p>Once upon a time…<p>

How every classic story starts.

Fairytales, anyway.

I suppose that's what this story is; a fairytale. Just the word itself is quite whimsical, isn't it? _Fairytale_.

Let me tell you something that may surprise you: fairytales are _real._ And I would know, I was a part of one. That's why this story is considered a fairytale, and begins with the phrase _Once upon a time_. But it is also a true story.

I really hope this isn't confusing.

I've never been much of a writer, but lately I've been feeling out of touch with what's important – you know, the grown-up feeling of being eighteen, about to leave for college, making all these grown-up plans – I thought writing down what happened to me would bring it all back, help me sort out my priorities.

Getting old – It's just freaking depressing. I've become so engrossed in all these _adult _matters; I would never have thought it of me.

_Me_: the girl who dreamed of magic, unreal adventures and things people laughed at.

_Me_: the girl who, at a very young age, actually experienced some. Well, more than some.

_Me: _the girl who, four years ago, left it all behind because of a stupid choice that I regret to this day.

Listen to me, kids: GROWING UP SUCKS.

But we all have to do it eventually, right?

Wrong.

Wrong, you ask?

We all know of one person who refuses to grow up. Impossible, you say? Come now; think harder, back to your own childhood…

If you still have not got it, I'll leave you to ponder it for a bit.

A little more background on who I am and why I'm doing this…

My name is Estie. My last name is irrelevant, so you may or may not end up finding it out.

I am eighteen years old, just out of high school.

As I said before – I've never been much of a writer, so I apologize if this seems rather informal. I suppose that's just kind of how I am.

I used to be very creative. When I was about thirteen, I was the biggest daydreamer you would ever meet. I sketched crazy things all the time (fairies, dragons, unicorns, mermaids, pirates…) and I even tried my hand at writing a few times, but I never got into it very much – I always liked telling stories. Literally _telling _them, verbally; I dreaded reading books, but I would listen to people who read them to me. And I made up a few of my own, and told them to my friends or the kids I would sometimes babysit; I have no siblings of my own to tell stories too, you see.

But then something happened, something beyond my wildest dreams (which I had used to think was impossible).

And I just let it all go.

Some people look back at their old high school pictures from their freshman year and think "Damn. Did I ever really look like that? Wear _that _outfit? Date _him?_ Biggest regret of my life."

If only I could do the same. If only my biggest regret could be something lame I've worn, or some boy who cheated on me when I was fifteen.

Mine is far bigger.

I let my best friend in the entire world go. I just left him.

And this isn't just some random friend. We didn't have a lame argument. We hardly ever argued, actually. There was no hard feelings when I said goodbye; I just did. I put real life before my dreams and lost someone very dear to me in the process, which is something that you should _never, ever do. _Take it from me. I know.

Dreams are there for a reason; to keep you on track. They might seem silly or unrealistic, but hold onto even those kinds of dreams. Nothing is ever unrealistic. Again, I would know. Trust me. And if you're reading this, you must believe that at least a _little_ bit, I mean, I put a pretty good description underneath the title, right? This might just be some random book floating out in the abyss of the internet somewhere, but it's all true. I just want others to learn from my mistakes.

Because I probably won't ever get a chance to fix them.

So have you figured out who that person is yet? If you haven't, I'm sorry to say but you're awfully stupid.

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><p><strong>And that's the intro. Thoughts? Opinions? Concerns? Criticism? Or, as Michael Scott said on one episode on the Office.."Constructive compliments?" Oh, and a fun fact...I've written the ending of this story already! Yep. The first and last chapters. But NOTHING in between. It's like a lonely Oreo without any frosting. And we ALL know that's the best part. I better get to frosting. Oh and I promise I won't always be this chatty at the beginnings and ends of the chapters, I just like to let people know what they're getting into at the start of a story. Night. xx<strong>


	2. Chapter One: Life In Technicolor

**This is a re-uploaded version of chapter one. After re-reading what I wrote before, I decided to change a couple things. It's not too different, but I think it's better.**

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><p><em>Gravity release me  and don't ever hold me down / now my feet won't touch the ground. _-Coldplay

_Tap, tap, tap._

I woke with a start and rubbed sleep out of my eyes. I had never been a deep sleeper, and today had not been a very tiring day.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"What _is_ that?" I asked aloud to my empty bedroom. The light-blue walls and grey shag carpeting did not answer. My cat, Ozzy, meowed from the end of my bed; I suppose I had woken him.

"Sorry, Ozzy. Just go back to sleep. I'm sure it's nothing," I said as confidently as I could, being only half awake. Truth is, I was freaking out.

The only thing that really scares me is the unknown. Especially not knowing _what is tapping on my window. _Also, during the nights when I just can't fall asleep, I begin to worry about the future. What's going to happen to me; high school, college, job, etc…it really terrifies me. Spiders, I'm cool with, _not knowing_ – no.

The tapping grew to a knocking so I pulled my covers up to my eyes and huddled underneath them, as though they were an impervious shield that could defend me against any evil. Did I even think about running downstairs to my parent's bedroom? Heck no. My mind does not work well in stressful situations, and the most obvious choice never really occurs to me. But where was the sound even coming from?

Not the door; I always slept with it open. I could see into the hall (lit up slightly by a nightlight) – it was empty. The closet? Even if sounded as though it were coming from that direction, _I _sure as heck wasn't about to open it. That only left…

_The window? _

Oh, no. Not the window. That had to mean someone was trying to break in and rape me or something of a sinister nature. I pulled my head completely under the covers and prayed.

_Knock, knock._

I was really scared now. It definitely wasn't the wind or something natural; some _person _was knocking on my window. Suddenly, though, the tapping stopped. I held my breath; maybe I had been imagining it.

I could have sworn I heard the floorboards beneath the shag carpet creak. My body tensed up under the covers and I shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

A hand slapped over my mouth and I screamed a muffled scream, opening my eyes. From the little light filtering in from the hall, I saw a face above mine. It was a boy, about my own age, maybe younger, with startlingly green eyes. But at that moment I could care less.

I shot into a sitting position and pulled down the hand from my mouth. I leapt out of bed and sprinted for the open doorway. I was too shocked to think about screaming again.

With surprising quickness, the boy was in front of me, blocking my way out. I stepped back, trapped.

"W-who are you?" Why was I asking such a question? Why did I _care_? As I said before, my mind is one of a different sort.

To my immense surprise, the boy's expression changed from one of intense concentration to mirth. He laughed.

"That's funny," he said, standing up straighter, but leaning slightly towards one side with an air of sangfroid. His arms were outstretched to stop me from attempting to run away from my room. "From what I've heard about you, I had _hoped _you wouldn't be scared of me. There goes that."

"Hoped I wouldn't be scared of someone who just sneaks into people's rooms in the middle of the night? On the second floor, too? How the heck did you even do that? And why?" I still wanted answers, for some reason. As the strange young man had not hurt me yet, and as he appeared to be enjoying my puzzlement, I was growing angry.

"Well, Estie, it's really quite simple," the boy stated, as though I was the world's largest idiot. "You believe in me. At least, as I said, I _hoped _you would."

My jaw literally dropped, I couldn't help it. What the _heck _did he mean?

"How do you know my name? Have you been spying on me or something?" _That's _when it hit me. My brain, whirring with some odd sense of déjà vu ever since the tapping had started had finally come to a conclusion.

The boy merely grinned at me; a lopsided kind of grin where his mouth went up higher on one side, in kind of a cute way, actually. I looked closer at him.

Tan. Wiry. Dressed in green. Sandy-haired. Green eyes. Barefoot. Managed to get into a second-floor room in the middle of the night. I knew who this boy was.

"_Peter Pan_?"

"Okay, so my hope for you is returning," he dropped his arms to his sides and took a step closer to me. "And in case you hadn't remembered, coming in the middle of the night is kind of my thing."

I was at a loss for words. "You're real?" Well, not really.

Peter sighed frustratedly and sat walked over to the other side of my room. He sat on the edge of my bed.

"Go right ahead, make yourself at home," I muttered, loud enough for him to hear. He shot me a scowl.

"_Yes, _I'm real."

"So do I get to go to Never Land?"

Peter shrugged. "If that's what they want?"

More confusion. "Who wants?"

"The boys."

"Boys? Oh…" Lost Boys. Duh, Estie. But I was still confused – why did the Lost Boys want me? Peter was looking at me a that half-amused, half-exasperated look. "I'm just tired. My brain will be fine in a few," I shot him a thumbs-up.

He stood and clapped his hands unenthusiastically. "So. Ready to leave?"

I wasn't done.

"Prove you're Peter Pan," I said, crossing my arms.

He shrugged and _floated a few feet off the ground_. My jaw dropped again and I clapped a hand over my mouth. You see flying special effects in movies all the time, but when a person is doing _right in front of you, _it's the wildest thing in the world. I got goosebumps.

"Okay," I said breathlessly. I wanted to fly so badly. "You're really him. But – this is probably all just a dream anyway… Do you know how many times I've dreamt of this happening?"

Peter didn't answer.

"Well, a lot."

More silence.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No."

"Oh. Cool."

We just stood there, I, barefoot in my flannel pajamas and Peter, barefoot in – whatever his clothes were made out of.

Peter kept glancing to his right, where the open window was. "You up for it? Or are we just going to stay here chatting about our dreams all night?"

Though I was a little miffed at his attitude, I smiled. "Yeah. Sure. But can I change though first? I know in the movie everyone just went in their pajamas, but I always thought that was a little weird."

After a slightly confused look of his own, Peter gave me the go-ahead and I quickly ran into the bathroom and changed into a pair jeans and a grey-and-navy-striped t-shirt. I slipped my feet into a pair of sneakers as I re-entered the room.

"Ready," I said, as I pulled my long blonde hair into a pony-tail. I waved goodbye to my cat, who was watching me lazily from the end of my bed. "Bye, Ozzy."

"Ready?" Peter repeated, incredulous. "That was fast. Are you sure you've got everything?"

Was he not just so anxious to leave but a moment ago? "What else do I need to bring?"

Peter raised his hands. "Nothing, but sometimes… some of the other girls tried to pack big suitcases and bring them."

"So there are lost _girls_?"

He smirked. "No."

"I see. Does that mean I'm the first?"

Peter winked as he turned to face the open window. "Unless you try to bring a suitcase."

"No suitcase here!" I said proudly, walking up next to him, my feet on my window ledge, looking out over my dark suburban neighborhood. A cool night breeze swept over our faces. "Those things must be really heavy to try and fly with, huh?"

Peter looked over at me in shock. "_Yes_! I can't believe you got that so fast," he paused and looked as though he was swallowing something disgusting. "Maybe you should've been the first choice…" Nope, nothing gross. Just his pride.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," I said, giving him a supercilious look. Then I realized something. "Where's Tinkerbell?"

"She doesn't always come," Peter said, pulling out a small pouch from his back pocket. "And when I told her I was probably bringing a girl back, she _really _didn't want to come."

I nodded in understanding. After remembering what Wendy went through with the hair-pulling and the angry tinkling of bells, I figured I could do without meeting the infamous fairy for a while.

That sparked another question.

"What about Wendy?" I asked. "Wouldn't she be the first lost girl?"

Peter, who had been shaking some golden dust out of the bag into his palm, stopped. With his head still down, he answered. "Well, she didn't stay, so it doesn't really count…"

I had the feeling he didn't like remembering Wendy.

"That makes sense," I said, to fill the gap of silence that had opened.

Peter looked up. He raised his arm and opened his hand over the top of my head. I couldn't see the pixie dust that was landing on my head and shoulders, but I could feel its effects; I felt fifty times lighter and a burning happiness had spread through me, making me feel as though I could do anything.

"I don't think I even need that happy though," I said giddily.

"You will. Just get one in your head," Peter said, cracking his knuckles and stepping out of my window. He hovered in the air as effortlessly as though there was an invisible balcony outside.

I was about to step off my window sill, when I remembered. "What about my parents? Will they know I'm gone?"

Peter's eyes shifted away from mine. "No. I don't think so," he said quickly.

I was still hesitant; should I leave a note? Should I even go?

"It'll be okay," Peter said confidently. "I'm sure."

"You didn't sound sure…" I interjected, stepping further back on my window sill. Peter reached forward and grabbed my wrist.

"No – Estie. Please come," he said, looking at me urgently. This was surely a change in attitude. "You'll always regret not coming."

He _did _have a point. I would never be able to live with myself, knowing I had let this go. I would be back; my parents wouldn't miss me forever.

Now that may seem selfish, and in fact it really was. But I was thirteen and not entirely in tune with how a parent's mind works. How they feel about their children. If I had known then the worry I was about to put them through, I would have thought far longer about leaving with Peter.

"All right," I said, letting him lead me outside. When I took my first step off the windowsill, I felt like I was in freefall and clutched at Peter's arm.

"Just think happy thoughts!" he said impatiently, pulling me up higher and higher. I closed my eyes.

_I WAS GOING TO NEVER LAND WITH PETER PAN._

I shot up into the air like a bullet and let out a yell of excitement. Flying was everything I had always imagined – even more, actually. I can't really describe how it felt – not like the weightless feeling of being in water. When I stopped still, I didn't float slowly upward, I just stopped and hovered in midair. When I tried to move myself forward again, I found myself moving my arms as though I was swimming, attempting to pull myself forward. I know I looked far sillier than Peter, as he gracefully soared up next to me.

"You'll get the hang of it," he said somewhat encouragingly. I was glad he didn't laugh, but then again – he was probably used to new fliers.

"So," I said, righting myself so I was in a somewhat-standing position. "Second star to the right, right?"

"And straight on till morning." Peter turned away and began flying slowly away from me.

"Um, Peter?"

He turned around.

"I'm having difficulties," I said, waving my arms. I wasn't sure how to move _forward._

He zoomed back over to me. "Just lean forward slightly."

I did and it worked, but I was going pretty slowly.

"You'll get it soon," Peter said again. "But for now – " he grabbed my wrist again and led me off into the sky.

We moved faster and faster and seemed to go higher than even airplanes went. I knew that at some point we wouldn't be able to breathe anymore, but I didn't point this out to Peter – I figured he knew what he was doing. In just a moment, it looked as though we were entirely in outer-space; the stars seemed larger than normal…

"How is this possible?" I yelled. The wind was roaring loudly in my ears and I could hardly hear myself.

Peter merely glanced back with a grin and flew faster.

Faster, faster, faster.

It was terrifying.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash of blinding light. I closed my eyes.


End file.
